


What You're Worth

by idmakeitbehave



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Emotional Abuse, M/M, a hint of angst? a touch of fluff? idk, let’s go with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28121472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idmakeitbehave/pseuds/idmakeitbehave
Summary: Something's wrong. Spencer tries not to profile you, he really does, but he can't help but notice. It seems as though you've decided that you're not worthy of good things, of a kind love- it seems like someone hastaughtyou that.Spencer's determined to show you that there's another way.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 355





	What You're Worth

The first time, Spencer thinks that maybe he imagines it.

It happens so quickly, just a fleeting instant. You've been talking to a local officer in a somewhat futile attempt to garner their cooperation. Despite your protests, despite the evidence, they were still resisting.

Spencer’s across the precinct, digging through piles of journals with one ear on your conversation. When the officer’s voice grows louder, it makes him glance in your direction. You’re still standing strong, urging him to follow the team’s lead.

It’s only when the officer shouts at you, his hand slamming onto the desk, that Spencer sees it. He’s out of his seat before he even registers it. You had flinched, taking a step back. Your eyes darted to the floor, your arms crossing instinctively around yourself. A defensive reaction. Spencer recognizes it immediately- he has to, with all of his years of experience.

It’s gone as quickly as it had arrived. By the time Spencer crosses the room and makes it to your side, you’ve recovered, jumping right back into the argument.

And that was that.

It was as though it had never happened, and Spencer never says a word about it. You had only been on the team for a few weeks. He tells himself that maybe you just weren’t quite prepared for your first altercation with the local police. It could have been instinctual, just a natural response to someone raising their voice.

It could have been, but the more Spencer notices, the more he’s sure that it isn’t just that.

You’re eager to please- more so than most new agents that come through the doors of the BAU, and that’s saying something. You give 110% of yourself to the job at all times and everything is always above and beyond what’s expected of you.

Maybe you just really want to prove yourself. It’s not an unreasonable assumption, but Spencer thinks it’s something else.

They’re not supposed to profile one another. Spencer _knows_ that. He tries not to, he really does, but he can’t help but notice.

Despite your attention to detail and your consistently stunning work, you never seem quite sure of yourself. You wait for approval from Hotch and if he’s not available, anyone. Anyone who isn’t you seems qualified to judge your work, apparently.

Beyond that, you defer to people older than you, people with more authority or seniority. It’s not everyone- just the team. You hold your ground with the press, with the local police, hell even with accusatory families. But when it comes to the team? You’re quick to back down, to let someone talk over you.

Spencer’s sure they don’t do it on purpose, but he can’t stop noticing it. He doesn’t know why it happens, why you never stand up for yourself or seem to believe that you’ve done a good enough job.

The more he sees, the more worried he becomes. It’s in the littlest things, things that he can’t ignore. Things that just keep happening.

Once, Spencer catches a fleeting interaction between you and JJ. You have on a new shirt. It’s a little more well-fitting than your usual shirts, one that he’s never seen before. He tries to ignore the fact that he knows this, that he’s paid so much attention to you that he knows your wardrobe. That little crush of his that had blossomed the moment he first spoke to you? All it’s done is grown larger throughout the passing months.

JJ’s voice drifts across the bullpen. “I _love_ that shirt on you, Y/N!”

He watches as you tug on the hem of your sleeve, clearly not yet comfortable in your deviation from your standard outfits. He can’t quite comprehend why. Spencer’s certain you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. It doesn’t matter what you wear.

You don’t respond to JJ right away. Instead, you seem to survey her. It’s almost as though you’re waiting for something. It takes Spencer a moment to place it, but then he realizes.

You’re waiting for her to laugh at you, to insult you, to tell you that she had just been joking. He’s not quite sure which one it is, but it’s something. Spencer can read your reactions, can tell that something happened to you. Something that’s led you to expect the worst.

It makes his heart ache, but as desperately as he wants to know, as much as he wants to be able to help you, he tells himself that it’s not his place.

He has his own demons- they all do- and he knows all too well how it feels when someone tries to break past those walls. How someone _reacts_ when you try to break past those walls. He’s been on both sides of it, and neither of them are particularly pleasant.

All he can hope is that one day you can tell someone. Deep down, just far enough that he can almost ignore the nagging thought, he hopes that one day you can tell _him_.

*

Spencer spends the next few months waiting. Waiting and trying in vain to quell his ever-growing crush. It doesn’t work. It can’t.

Instead, these months have been full of learning. Learning about you, about just how wonderful, how _effervescent_ you are.

The two of you had become quick friends, but there was always some unspoken distance between you. Spencer can’t pinpoint exactly why it’s there, but all he knows is that you had created it purposefully. You’ll laugh and joke with him at work, even sit next to him on the jet from time to time, but it’s as if there’s an unspoken barrier that goes back up every time he tries to get closer.

And it’s not just him.

You don’t go out with the team. Ever.

Spencer thought that _he_ was averse to those outings, but it’s nothing compared to you. You shut down the invitations immediately every time, squeaking out some meager excuse. Something about needing to get home on time.

And someone’s always calling you.

Spencer doesn’t know who. He can’t get close enough to you to find out. All he knows is that whenever your phone rings, you rush to answer it; you always whisper; and, if you can’t answer right away because of work, you get visibly anxious. The calls are short, a few minutes at most, but they never seem to stop.

You try your best to hide it, but he notices. The rest of the team must too. You’re surrounded by profilers and, despite all of your training for your position as communication liaison, you’re not quite able to control all of your reactions.

It’s not hard to make the connection between the phone calls and your eagerness to rush home. Spencer tells himself it must just be someone you’re seeing. A boyfriend, a girlfriend maybe. He supposes it could even be someone you’re married to. After all, he can’t get close enough to really know. For all he knows, you could be very happily married.

You could be, but Spencer knows that you aren’t.

Nothing about this is happy.

*

One afternoon, the two of you are working on a geographic profile. You work well together, always have. Despite that, you tend to let Spencer do most of the talking. He’s just about to mark another location when you stop him, rattling off something that he had missed. It’s only when you cut yourself off mid-sentence that he looks up from the map. Your eyes are wide, your lower lip drawn between your teeth.

Spencer can’t quite grasp why you’ve reacted the way that you had. That is, until you begin to speak again. “I- I’m sorry, that was a stupid idea.”

He shakes his head. “No, you’re absolutely right, Y/N.”

Spencer watches as your look of panic turns to one of surprise. You try your best to hide it, but he’s always been able to read your expressions. More than that, he _knows_ you.

Realization slowly begins to dawn on Spencer as he finally starts to connect the dots. The signs- they were all there, right in front of him.

The reluctance to accept compliments, the expectation of ridicule, the constant belittling of your own accomplishments. All of the instances run through his head: the argument with the officer, the way you look to _anyone_ to approve your work, even the face you had made when JJ complimented your outfit. Every time you turned down an invitation for a night out, every phone call that you rushed to answer.

Spencer is a smart man. He knows the signs of unhealthy relationships, of emotional abuse. He knows the facts- he would certainly be able to rattle off statistics if someone were to ask him. All of the little things, the things that he tried to write off as nothing, they’ve all added up. Maybe he always knew what it was but had just refused to accept it. Refused to accept that someone had done that to you.

That someone had taught you that you were someone to merely be tolerated.

This sudden realization is replaced by crushing, overwhelming guilt. He should have known. He should have seen what was right in front of him, should have done something to help you.

Done anything.

And yet, he still doesn’t know what to do. His high IQ, his astronomically large vocabulary, and somehow he _still_ can’t figure out what to say to you. If he says the wrong thing, you might run. If he says nothing, _does_ nothing, something worse could happen. Much worse.

After another moment of inner turmoil he settles on his best attempt at a reassuring smile. “Your ideas are valuable, Y/N. You’re a vital part of this team.”

You gape at him briefly before just the hint of a grin graces your face. “Thank you for saying that, Spence,” you whisper, turning your focus back on the map in front of you.

It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’ll have to do for now.

*

It’s only a few weeks later that you’ve finished your second degree.

Spencer only knows because Penelope told him- and she only knows because of course she does. You hadn’t said a word about it. Despite this, Spencer feels compelled to commemorate it, even if just a little. He thinks about all of his graduations, all of the empty chairs, all of the celebrations that he never had.

It stopped bothering him after the second degree, mainly because he stopped going to the ceremonies, but he just can’t stomach the idea of you going through the same thing. Even though you haven’t told him about what’s at home, _who’s_ at home, Spencer knows without question that they won’t celebrate it in the way you deserve. That they won’t celebrate _you_.

That thought occupies his mind on his way to work in the morning. He stops at a nearby cafe, one that he knows for a fact that you love, hoping that he can make you smile. At least a little.

When you arrive at the office, Spencer can’t help but watch you approach your desk. You stop a few feet away, taking in the coffee and muffin that sit neatly beside the files. There’s a little smiley face on the napkin, and your head swivels as you scan the bullpen. Your gaze lands on Spencer. You stare at him for a moment, quirking an eyebrow. It’s only when he grins sheepishly and gives you a little wave that you break into the widest smile he’s ever seen.

Spencer’s still thinking about that smile, trying to commit it to memory, when you walk right up to him.

“What’s this for?” you ask, muffin in hand.

“You graduated this weekend.”

You shuffle on your feet, shrugging. “It’s- it’s not a big deal.” Your words sound practiced, rehearsed. It’s as though you’ve heard them before. “You’ve already done it six times over. It’s not even like it was a particularly hard program.”

“It’s a very big deal. I’m proud of you, Y/N.” It’s a fact to him, an irrefutable statement, and he says it simply, but he can’t help but notice as your mouth falls open just the tiniest bit, tears filling your eyes.

He blinks and it’s gone again. You’re smiling at him widely, laughing as you take a bite of the muffin.

That smile. It makes everything worth it.

 _You_ make everything worth it.

*

Spencer can hear you on the phone. You’re whispering, but you sound more panicked than usual. He tells himself he should walk away, give you your privacy, but the voice on the other end stops him. It’s so loud that he can hear it from this distance, can hear someone yelling at you. He can’t quite make out the words. All he can hear is you quietly repeating, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Your voice is laced with tears and Spencer finds himself overcome with the unfamiliar urge to leap through the phone and punch the person on the other end. In the face perhaps.

Spencer’s not usually one for violence, probably couldn’t even punch someone if he tried, but this one feels warranted.

All he wants to do is wrap you up in his arms, take you home, tell you that everything will be okay. He wants to show you that you deserve a kind love, that you are a person worthy of good things- worthy of _everything_.

The feeling only grows stronger when he finds you in your office soon after. You’ve clearly been crying, though you try in vain to wipe the tears away when you hear Spencer approach.

He knocks on the door frame anyway. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you sniffle, busying yourself with the buttons of your jacket. “I just- I just need to get home.”

Spencer can’t stop himself. He has to say something. He _needs_ to. He doesn’t know if you’ll tell him, if you’ll yell at him, if you’ll hate him, if- but he does it anyway. “Y/N,” he says quietly. “Who’s at home? Who keeps calling you?”

You straighten up, eyes widening. He had caught you off guard. “My boyfriend. Why?”

“Is he- does he hurt you?” He knows it’s the wrong question immediately by the look on your face.

You take a step back, pulling your jacket more tightly around yourself. “No! What the hell, where did this come from, Spence?”

“It’s just that-” The instances are rushing through his head, and yet he can’t form a complete sentence, can’t get one thought out. “You’re always whispering on the phone and rushing home and you-” his voice trails off again as he struggles to put into words the thing that he finds most troubling of all. “You don’t seem to understand how wonderful you are.”

A cascade of emotions grace your face as you register his words- first it looks like shock, then shame, and then defensiveness as you prepare yourself to shut him down. Finally you land on one, one that Spencer should have seen coming but hadn’t prepared himself for. Resentment.

“This is none of your fucking business, Spencer.”

He’s heard those words before, heard that sentiment. Hell, he’s even said it himself more times than he cares to admit. But hearing it from you? Watching you push past him as tears fill your eyes?

It hurts more than all of those times combined.

*

The phone calls have stopped.

On any given work day, there are between three and five calls- there was one particular outlier in which there were seven. Spencer tries, once again, to shrug off the fact that he knows this.

In any case, they’ve stopped.

Something’s different. He can’t quite place if it’s a good change or not. You seem sadder for some reason, but it’s also as though you’re not looking over your shoulder anymore. You’ve barely spoken two words to him outside of work since that night in your office; it’s been almost three weeks and every time you refuse to meet his eyes, Spencer feels as though he might shatter.

He’s getting ready to leave the bullpen one night when voices drift by him. It takes him a moment to place them but then he realizes- it’s you and Derek.

“Do you- can you come with me?” you ask. “He hasn’t, um, he hasn’t touched me but-”

“Of course, angel. Anything you need.”

“Thanks, Derek.”

“I mean it, Y/N. _Anything_.”

Your voices grow quieter as the two of you trail out of the office, leaving Spencer alone at his desk. He lets out a breath he didn’t know that he’d been holding. It doesn’t take a profiler to figure out what you were talking about.

Spencer’s mind is racing. He knew that something was wrong, he _knew_ it. But you had gotten out. All by yourself.

He feels as though he’s being split in two, overcome by the sheer relief that you’re getting away from whatever it was that had been hurting you. Away from _whoever_ it was. Another part of him, one tucked into the recesses of his mind, is screaming. Screaming at himself for being useless, for letting you go through this all alone.

He thinks back to when it had been _him_ \- him all alone, him silently pleading for help, for anyone to notice. For anyone to care.

He’s gone and done the exact same thing to you, left you alone when you probably needed help most.

But you’re not alone now, are you? You have Derek.

Spencer tells himself that you just asked Derek because he’s more physically imposing than himself. More comforting. He tries not to think of that wall, that distance you’ve created between the two of you. It wasn’t personal. At least, he had thought it wasn’t until that night in your office.

None of that matters now. All that matters is that you’re out. The rest? That can come later.

Hopefully.

*

Another two weeks pass with barely a word exchanged between the two of you. You seem lighter now, maybe the tiniest bit happier even. But you still won’t speak to him, still won’t meet his eyes. Spencer curses himself for ever having said anything, although he knows if he could go back and change things he would do the same thing. Maybe with a little more grace, a little more tact if at all possible.

Maybe do it earlier. Maybe then he wouldn’t have lost you.

Despite this- this distance- he still pauses outside of your office before he leaves for the night. He can hear you crying again, can see you staring at a box that sits beside you.

He knocks, and you don’t even bother to try to hide your tears this time as he enters quietly.

“It’s his stuff,” you say unprompted.

Spencer realizes that you never say his name, that he doesn’t even know it. He’s glad for that. He doesn’t really want to know.

“Well, more accurately, it’s the shit he gave back to me,” you continue, shifting to make space for Spencer.

He sinks onto the couch beside you, overwhelmed with the sheer relief that you’re finally speaking to him. And yet, he doesn’t quite know what to say. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” It doesn’t feel like enough.

“I left him.” It’s as though you’re talking to yourself more than Spencer, though you dare to meet his eyes for a fleeting moment. “He never really loved me, he just put up with me. And now all I have is this box of- of shit.” You pause, picking up a scarf from the box and studying it.

It’s beautiful, bright blue with thick cables weaving down the length of it. Spencer can tell just from looking at it that it must be absurdly soft and almost certainly handmade.

“That’s a lovely scarf,” he says.

You just laugh, a bitter, empty sound. “It’s a useless, ugly gift. It was a complete waste of my time.” Once again it sounds as though you’ve heard these words before, as though they’ve run through your head over and over again.

Spencer’s heart feels as though it’s being crushed by this thought, this idea of someone constantly belittling the things you do- belittling _you._

“It’s none of those things,” Spencer says softly.

You look up with a start. “I didn’t leave him just because of what you said. I just- I want you to know that.”

None of this is what Spencer expected to hear and he finds himself speechless again. “Y/N-”

“I’m not stupid-”

“Y/N-”

“No, Spence,” you continue, “I’m _not_ stupid. I know that what he- the way he treated me wasn’t right. I _know_ that. And if you told me that people deserve to be in healthy relationships, I _know_ that. It’s- it’s like- I look at you and I _know_ that you deserve to be loved, to have someone know that you’re special and treat you like it. God, Spence, you deserve that more than anything.” You pause, your tear-filled eyes finally meeting his once more. “But I just- I forgot how to believe that _I_ deserve it. It feels like I don’t. I’m afraid I might never believe it.” The air feels heavy with the weight of your words as you fidget with the knitted object in your hands. “God, I’m sorry. All this over a stupid fucking scarf.”

“Y/N.” Spencer’s voice is quiet as he gently takes the scarf from you, placing it back in the box before taking your hand in his. “You _do_ deserve love. A kind love, one that doesn’t hurt. One that knows exactly how wonderful you are and treats you as such.”

You scoff, but he continues.

He can’t stop now- he has to say it, to say the things that have been racing through his mind for what feels like an eternity. “And it’s not just a scarf. It’s something you made, something you put time and effort and _love_ into. And it’s beautiful. I know that if I were so lucky to have someone love me enough to make me something like this, I would cherish it. I would cherish _them_.”

“Spence.”

The wobble in your voice stops him, and he reaches up to wipe away a stray tear that trails down your cheek. “You deserve good things, Y/N. You _are_ a good thing.”

You lace your fingers with his, letting out a sigh before resting your head on his shoulder. The sudden contact startles him just a bit, but he immediately realizes that the feel of your hand in his is all he needs. It’s as though he can finally breathe.

It’s silent until you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“For ignoring you, for treating you like crap. I know you were just concerned, but you- you-”

“What?” Spencer asks, even though he’s afraid of what your response will be. Afraid that it will shatter him for good.

Your voice is soft, barely audible above the low hum of the heat. “You made me feel like I was worth something. And I- I got scared that you would realize that it wasn’t true. And I didn’t want it to stop.”

“Oh, Y/N.” Spencer brushes a stray lock of hair out of your eyes, fighting back tears of his own. “It’ll never stop.”

*

Things are different now. Better.

That invisible wall, that barrier that you had created? It has finally started to crumble. Spencer’s prepared to take it down himself brick by brick if he has to. He’d do anything.

It’s slow-going, but he’ll wait as long as you need.

When the days turn into weeks turn into months, he finds that the two of you are growing closer and closer. It’s more than he could have ever imagined. Just being close to you is enough.

Now instead of being relegated to limited hours at work between cases, you spend as much free time together as possible: movie nights, reading together, even just being in one another’s presence after a tough case.

You go out with the team now. You laugh more, spend less time double and triple checking your own work. You spend more time just _being._ Everything feels just the slightest bit lighter. It’s freeing.

You sit next to Spencer on the jet now, every time without fail. The first time that your hand finds his after a particularly difficult case, he almost thinks he imagines it when he hears a sniffle. It’s only when you meet his eyes that he speaks. “What is it?” he asks quietly.

“It’s just- yours is the first hand I’ve held in- in like two years. It’s- it’s really nice.”

Spencer doesn’t say a word, _can’t_ say a word. All he can think about is those two years that you had spent untouched, unappreciated, _unloved_. This is when he makes a promise to himself- he’s not going to let you feel that way again.

Instead of speaking, he just holds your hand more tightly, his thumb sweeping across yours. You sigh and when you squeeze his hand in return, he knows that everything is finally as it should be.

*

One day, almost a year after that night in your office, you and Spencer are on his couch together. Your head is on his shoulder, your hand on his chest. Despite the time that has passed, despite the many nights like this, this closeness still manages to take his breath away.

The film long over, the two of you sit in silence, listening to the music that washes over the apartment. It’s comfortable, being with one another like this. It feels like home.

Spencer jumps, just slightly, when he feels a feather light touch over his collarbone. He lets out a laugh on instinct, glancing down to see your fingers running across the soft skin. “Y/N, what are you doing?”

You don’t answer him. Instead you say, “I have something for you.”

“What?”

Again, there’s no answer. You stand up, and Spencer finds that he misses the warmth of your body next to him immediately. He watches as you putter around the living room, digging into your bag. The sudden urge to have you in his apartment, in his living room, in his _life_ forever creeps into the back of his mind.

He’s getting ahead of himself.

And yet.

You sink onto the couch beside him, a silver sparkling gift bag in your hands.

“What’s this for?” Spencer asks as you hand him the bag, a shy grin on your face. It’s not his birthday, not a holiday, not any important day in particular. He would know if it were.

“Just open it.”

Spencer obliges, reaching into the bag. He feels it before he sees it, soft and velvety to the touch. When he pulls it out, his breath hitches in his chest. It’s a scarf.

He can feel tears welling in his eyes as he turns the scarf over in his hands. It’s gorgeous, the most brilliant shade of purple with intricate cables and eyelets down the length, tassels on each end.

“It’s not- it’s not much,” you say almost automatically.

Spencer shakes his head, draping the scarf around his neck. “It’s everything, Y/N. It’s perfect and I love it.”

“I love _you_ ,” you blurt, your eyes widening with the realization of what you’ve just said, your hand flying to cover your mouth. Spencer’s never seen anything more endearing, more beautiful. He catalogs this moment, this look on your face. It’s one he never wants to forget.

He brushes the hair out of your eyes, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. “I love you, too.”

There’s a pause as you process his words, blinking at him before breaking into a luminous smile. “You do?”

Spencer nods, grinning back at you. “Mhm. I thought it was fairly obvious.”

The laugh you let out at that fills the tiny apartment, fills his heart with the very joy of it. He wants to hear that laugh for the rest of his life.

There’s a pull on Spencer’s scarf, and he looks down to see your hands wrapped around it.

“You love me?” you ask again, giggling as you tug the scarf, pulling him towards you.

Your noses are almost touching, and Spencer swallows thickly before nodding. “I do.” He blinks and suddenly your lips are on his, your hand running through his hair. His hands reach for the sides of your face, laughing into the kiss as you tug him even closer. As close as physically possible.

You break away much too soon for Spencer’s liking, pressing a kiss to his collarbone before nestling back into his arms. He lets out a contented sigh and presses his lips to your temple.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” you admit with a quiet laugh. You say it simply, but the sentiment almost makes Spencer want to cry from the sheer joy of it.

He laughs in return, overcome with the flood of emotions that has washed over him. “I’m glad you did.”

A comfortable silence settles over the room, the only sound the music drifting from the speakers.

When you speak again, your voice is low. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Spencer asks.

“For making me feel like I’m worth it, for- for not giving up on me.”

“You _are_ worth it. You’re worth everything. And I told you, Y/N.” He presses one more kiss to your lips, soft and sure. “It’ll never stop.”


End file.
